


Ad-vengers in Babysitting

by tisfan



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Awesome James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Friday is a good bro, Gen, Humor, I am mrs. nesbit!, Parent Tony Stark, Sarcasm, Teasing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, don't you see the hat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 10:29:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14423469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: When a villain of the week de-ages most of the Avengers, it's Sam and Rhodey (Don't even call them B-listers) to the rescue, and Tony... as the babysitter. No, Tony, do not SIT on the kids...





	Ad-vengers in Babysitting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ifdragonscouldtalk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifdragonscouldtalk/gifts), [JacarandaBanyan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JacarandaBanyan/gifts), [Flight_Of_Icarus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flight_Of_Icarus/gifts), [rebelmeg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelmeg/gifts).



> For the Avenging Comes in Small Packages contest
> 
> Thanks to the WinterIron discord ideas crew for their suggestions and headcanons

“Hey, platypus,” Tony said, mock cheerfully. “You busy? I could use some backup here.”

Rhodey could always tell when Tony was fronting. It was a skill that Rhodey had developed out of sheer self-defense. “I’m not currently on duty,” he said, carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong, sour patch? Why would anything be wrong?”

“Aside from the use of the word _backup_ , and also, the alarmingly there’s-nothing-wrong-here voice you’re using. Don’t bullshit me, Tones, just tell me what it is.”

“I… might need you to track down a bad guy for me and smack him around a little until he gives you his magic hourglass.”

“Uh… you might want to start at the beginning? And like, should I be taking notes, and where the hell is the rest of your _actual_ team?”

“Right here, sugarlump,” Tony said. “They’re… uh… All about four to seven years old.”

“Okay, on my way,” Rhodey said. He shook his head and twisted the grey chased black bracelet that he wore all the time, even though it was against a dozen uniform violations. His suit was not -- and would never be -- as cool and responsive as the Iron Man armor, but that was because he couldn’t afford to be down on Tony’s lab every single day and letting Tony fuck with it. (Also, Rhodey had no intentions of going through the nanobot injections, he’d seen the scars Tony had from that, and no thank you.)

But the bracelet would notify his armor that he was on the way -- even with the prosthetics that Tony had rigged up for him, Rhodey just wasn’t as fast as he used to be -- and get everything ready.

“Stay in the suit,” Tony cautioned him. “This de-aging dust is pernicious.”

“Yeah? So how old are you right now?”

“‘Bout thirty, ish. Hard to tell, really,” Tony said. “I’m in the suit, which doesn’t exactly come with a rear-view mirror for me to admire my makeup in.”

“You put the suit on and it kept this from happening?”

“Well, I popped the faceplate and he got me with a little bit of the dust, so I think the sealed environment keeps it out.” Tony said. “I’m leaving the suit _on_ because Bruce has temper tantrums and a five year old Hulk is destructive as shit. Just sayin’, kid’s got some anger management issues. And let me tell you, I need serious therapy for smacking a five year old around, even if he was a Hulk. Well, mostly I just sat on him, but still. This is not enhancing my calm at all.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what they mean by babysitting, Tony,” Rhodey said. He stripped out of his jacket, tie, and regulation shoes before letting War Machine close up around him. Ah, he loved being in the armor. Even after the fall, he still felt safe inside… like, if he died in the armor, it would be the best possible death.

“Boot me up, baby,” he told the suit as he stepped in.

“Good morning, Colonel Rhodes,” ROXY said, her voice fond. She was still a little stiff, not quite as expressive as Friday, or as JARVIS had been, but Rhodey loved her, too.

“Okay,” he said as soon as he kicked off from the ground. “Give me the sitrep.” He got a brief look at Tony in the HUD, face at least a decade younger, the lines eased around his eyes. Then someone -- probably FRIDAY, because Tony’s girl just had that sort of sense of humor -- gave Rhodey a pulled back shot from a security camera.

Iron Man was sitting awkwardly, metal legs in a criss-cross pattern, holding a tiny little tea cup in one enormous metal gauntlet. A princess tiara was perched precariously on top of the helmet and a fluttery, purple glitter cloak was thrown around his neck.

“Aren’t you precious?” Rhodey chirped, delighted. “Oh my god, I totally want like full-color photos of this. I might even get one of those life-sized cardboard cutouts, Mrs. Nesbit.”

“God, you’re an asshole,” Tony said.

“You need me,” Rhodey sing-songed. “So, tell me about this villain.”

“Um, totally cliche bullshit type of guy,” Tony said, and the HUD threw up several pictures of a skinny dude in a yellow spandex suit that looked homemade, along with a blue, shimmery cloak. He was carrying an hourglass that was almost two feet tall and probably weighed at least fifty pounds, based on the way Mr. Skinny was bowed over. “Calls himself Chronos.”

“Like the greek god of Time?”

“Linear time, at least,” Tony said. “Could be. He looked more like he was going for the Piers Anthony novel character. Anyway, he threw a handful of this dust out of that hourglass at Cap. We didn’t even realize anything was wrong for a while. Cap delivered the beat down on the guy’s minions--”

“He has minions?”

“Well, he _did_ ,” Tony said. “Cap busted ‘em up pretty good.”

“And you guys are all safe?”

“Relatively,” Tony said. “As long as I keep drinking tea, Nat’s happy, and if she’s happy, then Bruce is staying mostly not-green. I haven’t seen Clint in a while, and that’s worrisome even when he’s a grown up. Steve’s drawing pictures on the walls, that’s probably permanent marker -- oh, no, Cap, come on, can we keep the sketches to the walls and not on Thor?”

“Thor’s a baby, too?”

“Yeah, it’s both adorable and weirdly concerning,” Tony reported, “because he can still lift that stupid hammer of his. I swear, it’s a fingerprint, or DNA coded or something, because there is no way in the world that some three year old with a questionable vocabulary and the drinking habits of Howard Stark is _worthy_.”

“Baby Thor is swearing?”

“No, he’s threatening to wreak havoc,” Tony said. “Blood-thirsty little tyrant. I’ve got him snipe-hunting, at the moment, to prove his prowess.”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, you bet your shiny metal ass I did,” Tony said. “Also, Wanda and Viz are missing, also worrisome, so, reinforcements on the babysitting end would be good, too.”

“Yeah, gonna give the baby avenger nanny job a miss. So, uh, what do you want me to do about the villain?” Rhodey asked. He checked his surroundings; damn he loved being able to just leave the driving to his AI, that was so handy. He knew Tony had sometimes used travel time to actually sleep, which was a little more than Rhodey wanted to do, but it was convenient to not have to worry about deployment.

“Find him, take the hourglass away from him, and go badger Strange into doing the bibbity bobbity boo schtick,” Tony said. “Wait, Nat, honey, can you get down from there, sweetie? Come on, just… yeah, there we go. What did I say about climbing on the furniture?”

“You think this is magic?”

“It sure as _fuck_ isn’t science,” Tony said.

“Mis’er Tony,” a piping voice said, and the kids were all so young that Rhodey had no chance of identifying which one it was, “waz _fuck_ mean?”

“Better wash your mouth out, Mr. Tony,” Rhodey said, in all seriousness. “You’ve got impressionable children around you.”

“Bite me, sugarbear,” Tony said. “Fuck is a bad word, and you shouldn’t say it where your Uncle Rhodey can hear you.”

“All right, Tones,” Rhodey reported. “I’m eleven minutes out. Don’t let the Spy Kids get you down.”

“Just hurry up,” Tony pleaded. “My rates for babysitting go up if I have to feed them.”

“Look at it this way,” Rhodey said, “at least none of them are in diapers, still.”

“Remind me when all this is over and I’ll tell you about Captain America and the Winter Soldier flooding the bathroom by trying to rescue one of the toys they ‘accidentally’ flushed down the toilet,” Tony grumbled.

Rhodey laughed. “You can’t say you don’t deserve this,” he said.

“I absolutely do not deserve-- stop laughing at me, honeybear,” Tony complained. “Ack, gotta run, Clint’s climbing up shit again.”

Rhodey grinned. “Record all this for me, Friday, you sweet thing, you,” he said.

“Already on it,” Friday reported.

“Good girl.”

***

“It’s not very often that the B-listers get to save the day,” Sam said. He’d been doing his thing down at the VA when the assemble call came in and decided that the team could handle it. Sometimes, comforting vets who were suffering from PTSD was way more important than busting up some third-rate knock off villain.

Apparently this had not been that time.

“I hardly consider myself a B-lister,” Dr. Strange said. He was doing that annoying, floating thing again, the damn showoff.

“It’s okay, man,” Sam told him, nudging Strange with his shoulder. “You’ll get your time to shine. I mean, you’re not quite as handsome as me, but you’ll make a really cute doll.”

The cloak that Strange always wore shoved Sam away. Sam had never been able to figure out if that cloak responded to Strange’s thoughts or if it had some sort of agenda of its own, but it hovered around the man like a velvet attack dog, and Sam had seen it do some pretty nifty tricks that a fancy bit of flannel should not manage.

“Your thinly disguised jealousy is an ugly thing, Mr. Wilson,” Strange said.

“What are we doing again, here, banter?” War Machine thudded across the street and dropped another one of the time-lord’s minions into the pile. “Also, they’re called _action figures_ , Wilson,” Rhodes commented, turning his War Machine mask in Sam’s direction, which always made Sam a little nervous. It wasn’t Sam’s fault, exactly, that War Machine had taken a bad hit in the airport battle, but it kinda was, and guilt was a slippery subject.

 

“Just thought you needed a new story for the parties, Colonel,” Sam said. “The one with the tank is getting old.”

“This one begins to show some signs of regaining consciousness,” Strange said, and he did that weird… thing with his hands; glowing golden runes in moving, twisting circles appeared. The minion was wrenched to his feet by invisible hands. “Will it help if I threaten you first, or would you just like to tell us where we might find your boss?”

“Oh, just turn him inside out as an example for the rest of these assholes,” Rhodes suggested. “I’m tired, I’m bored, and I didn’t get coffee this morning, before Tony rousted me to come deal with his cleanup issues.”

Sam was pretty sure that War Machine without coffee was more terrifying than Strange, but each to their own.

The minion, on the other hand, just looked stubborn.

“They’re all a bunch of stupids,” a tiny little voice said.

Sam whirled around so fast he almost got whiplash. “Oh, hell no, what… no, no, this is not… _Vision_ , what the-- how are you even a kid?”

Vision, a tiny purple toddler, was floating nearby. He was holding hands with an equally tiny Wanda Maximoff. “A question that concerns me as well. But it has, it seems, happened, and we must deal with it. Wanda and I have located Chronos, if we might be of some assistance.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know y’all ain’t supposed to be out running around when you’re toddlers, right?”

“Hey, Tones,” War Machine was already on the communicator with Stark, which was just as well, because Sam didn’t want to deal with telling an already stressed out Iron Man that they’d found two runaway mini-vengers. “We found your runaways. Flying preschoolers are hard to keep a hold of, I get it, man, I do, but…”

“Chronos left behind a unique radiation and trans dimensional signature. Between Wanda and I, we were able to follow it.”

Strange flicked his fingers in one of those convoluted patterns; he always looked more stiff and formal than Wanda, whose magic danced from knuckle to knuckle like she was listening to her own personal rave. Sam couldn’t always tell if that was a result of Strange’s injuries, or differences in their training, or something else entirely.

Lines of shimmering blue symbols extended from Strange’s hands and circled the two children, coiling around until--

“Leashes?” Sam blurted. “You made magical mommy leashes?”

“It seemed, somehow, appropriate, given the circumstances,” Strange said. “After all, toddlers are trouble on the best of days, and magical, flying toddlers likely to be more taxing than most.” He looped the glowing runes around his wrist. “This way, we should be able to keep track of them, at least.”

The two flying kids looked like surreal helium balloons more than anything else, but working together, Wanda and Vision managed a spell that drew a brilliant yellow, crackling line between the mind stone in the middle of Vision’s forehead all the way to wherever Chronos was.

“I gotta say, that’s a neat trick,” Sam commented. He kicked off from the ground to scout ahead. “Even if if looks like something out of a damn video game.”

“It is the traces of his effects on us that Wanda’s spell is able to detect, pointing in the direction of the source,” Vision said. He was always a bit pompous, sounding like Tony’s old AI, which in turn supposedly sounded like the Stark’s old butler, but hearing that voice and those tones from a tiny little purple gummy bear of a kid was super disconcerting.

The line was as the crow -- or, in this case, the Falcon -- flies, so Sam zipped along the line, hoping the guy hadn’t done something like gotten on an airplane in the meanwhile. “I don’t suppose you can tie them up outside on the corner lamppost or something, while we bash some baddies?”

“Mr. Wilson, that would be very irresponsible,” Strange said. “Maybe we should leave them in your tender care while the colonel and I deal with the situation.”

“No, I ain’t drawing straws to see who stays the kids,” Sam said. “I got nieces and nephews and I have done just as much uncle-duty babysitting as is mandated by the state of New York--”

“Perfectly qualified, great, thank you for volunteering,” Strange said.

“Man, shut the hell up.”

But, of course, he got stuck with watching after Viz and Wanda while Strange and War Machine went inside to kick ass. Taking names was optional; he’d heard a rumor that Strange had taken one man’s name permanently -- like the dude never remembered his name again. Even nicknames. It was weird and scary and petty as hell, but it did make one a little leary about going up against the Sorcerer Supreme.

Chronos didn’t seem to have gotten that memo, so Sam was stuck outside, entertaining two highly dangerous, low on patience, kidlets. The usual things that Sam did to keep his sister’s kids out of trouble did not go over well with Viz -- being a synthoid apparently kept playing video games on Sam’s smartphone from being quality entertainment.

“A’ight now, Wanda, is that a real tiger there, or are you puttin’ a whammy on me, because I don’t appreciate no whammies,” Sam said. He was pretty sure it wasn’t an actual tiger, like escaped from the zoo sort of critter, but it was entirely possible that Wanda had gotten bored and decided to import a tiger. Or grow one from an alley cat.

“Put that thing back where it came from, or so help me--” Viz started, and then they were both singing that stupid song from _Monsters, Inc_.

“It’s a work in progress,” Sam muttered as the tiger disappeared in a puff of scarlet mist. “Why is it that you even know Sully and Mike, Viz? I didn’t think you were big into cartoons.” He pressed one hand over his chest, willing himself to calm. Down. No tigers. There were no tigers here, damn it.

“I do have access to my… former self’s memory stores,” Viz explained. “And Mr. Stark was particularly fond of showing a wide variety cinema to Captain Rogers.”

Movie nights. Sam sighed. It’d been a while since the Avengers had had movie night. “Huh. Do you like that sort of thing? Like, when you’re a full sized synthoid and not a pint sized technological terror?”

“I am fond of popcorn,” Viz said, thoughtfully. “And hearing the thoughts of my companions about the movies, although I find most cinema to be… less than engaging.”

“Popcorn, popcorn, popcorn!” Wanda bellowed. She jumped up onto Viz’s back, wrapping her arms around his throat. “Gimme a biggy pack ride!”

“I’m quite certain what you meant was a piggy back ride,” Viz corrected her, gently, which was probably just a bad move, because no one appreciated that shit. And yeah, there went Wanda sticking her tongue in his ear and blowing a loud, wet raspberry.

“I know what I said!”

“That was truly unnecessary,” Viz complained, but nonetheless, he hooked his hands under Wanda’s knees and trotted her around in a circle. Which worked great as a distraction right up until Strange’s magical leashes got all tangled up around Sam, and the three of them ended up stuck together like the world’s most awkward slinky.

On the plus side, War Machine came out a few minutes later, carrying a huge hourglass. He turned it over, opened the -- Sam assumed, bottom -- and sprinkled a little bit of dust on each of the kids, like some sort of metal Tinkerbelle.

“Hey, watch it with that stuff,” Sam protested. “Don’t need to be any older than I already am.”

“With age comes wisdom,” Rhodey said.

“Yeah, I’m good man. Wise enough, thanks.”

There was no possible way that the War Machine’s faceplate could indicate sarcasm.

It did anyway.

***

Tony was sleeping.

Steve, probably the oldest of the de-aged Avengers, was playing an entirely age-inappropriate video game on the playstation while the Winter Soldier was poking someone’s smart phone, looking up cheat codes and walkthroughs. Apparently kid-savvy with tech outweighed both of their “I was an adult in the 30s, don’t expect me to care about your smartphone” stubbornness. Or, as Rhodey had often thought, privately, they were both perfectly fine with tech, the two of them just liked yanking Tony’s chain. A hobby that, most of the time, Rhodey could get behind.

On one side of Tony was curled a just-barely toddler Thor, Mjolnir in his arms like a teddy bear.  

Peter Parker was the only infant, but still apparently sticky as velcro; he was clinging to the front of the Iron Man’s suit, napping, thumb shoved firmly in his mouth. There was drool dripping down his chin and onto the suit.

Black Widow was still having a tea party and had managed to talk Clint into wearing a purple princess dress and glitter flats and drink pretend tea out of little plastic cups while discussing the neighbor’s begonias. Hulk was a great, green toddler, nearly as tall as Tony was as an adult, but he was sitting, criss-cross, on the floor at Tony’s feet, petting a cat.

Where the hell had they gotten a cat from? Rhodey didn’t know if he wanted to know.

“KITTY,” Hulk bellowed, softly, as Rhodey tiptoed around the sleeping and resting avengerlettes.

“Yeah, I see that,” Rhodey said. “Hope Bruce likes cats.”

“PUNY BANNER LIKE KITTY!”

“Yeah, okay, so we have a Compound pet,” Sam said. “I’ll have Friday put in an order for litter and food. Or something.”

“Hey, Tones,” Rhodey said, shaking his shoulder gently. “Come on, wakey wakey, old man, time to give your kids back.”

Iron Man very gently wrapped one armor-clad arm around the sleeping Parker. “Shut up, sour patch. I just got them napping. ‘S everything okay?”

“Well, aside from the World War Twosome traumatizing themselves by playing Outlast 2,” Rhodey said, “we have a cure. And the baddie’s on his way to prison. And Strange is trying to figure out how to get the hourglass back to the person it belongs to, more power to him.”

“A cure,” Tony said. The facemask peeled back and a somewhat less aged Tony looked up at him. “Almost sorry to hear that. These kids are a lot of work, but--” he stared down at Peter, then smiled, a little dopey and sad. “I kinda like it.” Tony shifted a little until Thor was sleeping on the floor, still curled around his hammer.

“Yeah, thought you might,” Rhodey said. “You’ve always been Team Dad.”

Wanda was sprinkling the re-aging dust on various Avengers. Steve and Bucky suddenly growing back into their adult selves did not seem to keep them from fighting over the PS4 controller like rowdy teenagers.

“It was just… you know… nice,” Tony said.

Rhodey glanced around. “Kinda thought you might think that.” He handed Tony a pair of little ziplock baggies. “Save it for a special occasion.”

Tony’s eyebrows went way up.

“Just sayin’, Tones,” Rhodey said, “that it might be nice to spend an afternoon as kids again, don’t you think?”

Tony’s eyes softened. “Oh, yeah. Absolutely!”


End file.
